


Cross The River

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Scott McCall, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyguard Derek Hale, Evil Peter Hale, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Isaac Lahey, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stiles Stilinski is Bait, Teen Wolf Pack Prompting Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm not a bodyguard!” Derek glares at his Alpha, who turns red glowing eyes to the beta.<br/>“You are whatever I <em>say</em> you are, Derek.” <br/>They lock eyes, and the human boy sitting on the nearby couch tenses subtly, but his amber eyes darting between the duo give away his anxiety.<br/>Stiles Stilinski has plenty of reasons to be nervous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross The River

**Author's Note:**

> AU: The molotov cocktails don't work, they don't hurt Peter. They just piss him off.  
> -  
> Rape occurs off-screen. Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski. Stiles is underage for this.

“I'm not a bodyguard!”

Derek glares at his Alpha, who turns red glowing eyes to the beta.

“You are whatever I _say_ you are, Derek.”

They lock eyes, and the human boy sitting on the nearby couch tenses subtly, but his amber eyes darting between the duo give away his anxiety.

Stiles Stilinski has plenty of reasons to be nervous.

“He's the only thing Scott cares about now, the only bait we've got to bring him into the pack before the Argents get to him.” Peter's voice is calm, controlled, reasonable.

Stiles has reason to know that it's only a veneer. And a thin one at that.

“It would be a lot easier if you hadn't _killed_ his mother.”

Peter shrugs. “What's done is done. You _will_ arrange this meeting with Stiles and Scott, you _will_ go and protect my...” He darts a glance to Stiles, eyes flashing red a moment while he looks the boy over. “Investment.”

Derek grits his teeth but nods, turning away without ever looking at Stiles. He's learned from experience that it's better for Stiles if he ignores the boy's existence.

Peter dismisses Derek from his thoughts, snaps his fingers and points at the floor next to him.

Stiles rises gracefully from where he's been lounging on the couch, settles to a kneel at Peter's side, turns up his face, amber eyes wide, waiting for instructions.

Stiles knows his place now.

-

“I think he knows.”

Derek's hazel eyes are worried as he looks down to Scott, who lifts a soft, sad smile up to the older man.

Derek remembers when it as bright and cheerful.

“He'd've killed you already. And since you're _very_ not dead, he can't know.”

Derek snorts, but relaxes subtly, and Scott tugs him close, buries his face in Derek's neck. “It's gonna be alright, babe. I promise.”

Derek's not so sure. Peter's smart and _ruthless_.

“He's overconfident. And he doesn't know that I'm an Alpha now. Or that you're _my_ beta, and not his.” Scott pulls back and runs a thumb over Derek's stubbled cheek. “It's going to _work_.”

Derek sighs but lets himself get distracted by soft kisses and tugged towards their bed.

-

“Everything's set,” Derek reports, deliberately not looking over to where Deaton is tending Stiles. He's learned his own lesson about interfering with Peter's treatment of Stiles. Back when Derek thought that Peter was just taking out his frustrations over Scott.

He had been forcibly educated on what was _actually_ happening, and when he had limped home to Scott, been forced to tell the then-beta what was being done to his best friend, that was the first time he'd held Scott in his arms, shushed the boy as he wept.

Derek had vowed then to do anything to fix things for Scott McCall.

He'd fallen in love with him much later.

-

Scott circles the meeting place, using his superior sense of smell to make sure that Peter's followed the rules of their agreement. He's learned a lot these past two months, since breaking the trap that had been set for him, the one that had pushed him to become Alpha without killing.

No one's here but Derek and Stiles.

Scott wrinkles his nose up as Stiles scent comes to him, smothered beneath Peter's, and he tenses his jaw and closes his eyes. Peter has a lot to answer for.

He wonders if Stiles will ever be the same.

Scott cautiously climbs up, lands on the roof and creeps along it. He learned fast not to rush in to places Peter has picked. Scott escaped from the bastard only by the skin of his teeth on multiple occasions. There were others that weren't so lucky.

Scott's eyes flash red as the list of names repeats in his head, those that he's failed; Jackson, Lydia, Cora, Allison, her mom, his mom, the Sheriff.

_Stiles_...

-

Stiles _hurts_.

Not that it's anything new, but Peter had taken a malicious glee in marking him up for the meeting with Scott.

He ignores Derek as much as the man is ignoring him, bruised lips twitching bitterly as he recalls pleading with Derek to set him free back in those early days of his captivity.

It wasn't until Peter had shredded Derek's abdomen in front of Stiles that the boy had stopped asking.

There's no saving him now.

He doesn't even know why Scott wanted this meeting. But he puts on a smile as the werewolf finally shows up, almost an hour after he was supposed to.

“Heeeeey, Scotty, how's it going buddy?”

Stiles tries not to flinch as his best friend – they're still best friends, right? – rushes him, sweeping him off his feet in a hug.

Derek shifts, tenses, but Stiles quickly extricates himself. “No touching, dude. Those were the rules, remember?”

Scott gives Derek a smile full of sunshine and the older man relaxes slightly. Stiles shakes his head. Scott's always been able to get out of things with that smile, but he didn't think it would work on Mr. Always Grumpy.

“Sorry, dude, I was just so happy to see you.”

Scott waits until Derek steps back, settles into a place behind Stiles, then the werewolf looks significantly at the pocket of Stiles' hoodie. Furrowing a brow as he sits in a chair, Stiles sticks his hand in it, only to feel something – _oh my god, it's a syringe_.

He panics at what that might mean, and both Derek and Scott start at the sudden uptick in his heartbeat.

“Sorry fellas, um, I forgot it might hurt to sit for a while.”

Scott flinches and closes his eyes. Derek is an immovable wall behind him.

There's an awkward silence until Stiles clears his throat. “Sooo, what's new with you?”

Scott grins a bit, but Stiles can still see the sadness in his friend's eyes. “It's good to see you, Stiles.”

“Yeah, me too, buddy.” He nods and runs a hand through his too-long hair. Peter likes to be able to grab it.

“The Alpha,” he insists on being called that, “said to tell you that you could see me more often if you would join him.”

“Stiles..” Scott looks down, and then back up into the amber eyes. “He killed my _mom_. And your dad.”

“I know, dude. I know.” Stiles doesn't expect to be saved. “It's okay.”

He smiles for Scott, hiding a flinch as Derek moves again. “Time's up.”

Stiles grips the syringe tightly as he smiles a goodbye to Scott. He's pretty sure it'll be the last time he seems his former best friend.

-

“You let him _touch_ my property.”

Peter knew right away of course, the Alpha's sense of smell is incredibly sensitive. Derek is prepared, knew it was coming, doesn't even flinch as Peter's claws swipe across his chest, thighs, then back as he falls to the floor. He passes out while his uncle is still rending his flesh.

Stiles takes the syringe out of his pocket. “Alpha. He gave me this.”

Peter is distracted, lifts a bloody face up, red eyes glowing, and stalks over to Stiles, retracts claws to pick it up. Very carefully, he settles it on his desk.

“Have Deaton analyze that when he comes to take care of you.”

Stiles closes his eyes. _Yeah, this one's going to be bad._

-

He's barely conscious when Deaton arrives, and the look the vet gives him tell Stiles all he needs to know about the condition he's in.

Deaton leans over him, and Stiles mumbles something about the syringe. The older man nods. “It has a powerful paralytic, but not one that could hurt Peter.”

It takes Stiles a second to realize that Deaton didn't call him 'Alpha'. His eyes widen and he turns his head, wincing as he pulls a wound doing so, just in time to see that syringe descending towards his own neck.

“Hush, Stiles, sleep now.”

-

Stiles wakes up to fighting, glowing eyes and flashing fangs, roars and bodies everywhere. He's on his little pile of blankets in the corner, and he automatically cowers away from the nightmare before him.

Someone touches his shoulder and Stiles flinches back, but the voice that hushes him is soft, and he turns to see big blue eyes and a soft mop of golden curls framing a sweet, broken smile.

Something about the other boy tells Stiles that he can trust him, and he relaxes slightly as the boy guards him from the chaos. For the first time in a long time, Stiles feels somewhat safe safe.

It lasts for all of ten minutes, until he looks up and sees red eyes coming at him. He shouts in surprise, until they're blocked from his sight by the body of the blonde boy.

“Back off,” the guy says, his voice strangely slurred.

“Isaac,” comes the warning tone, and it's Scott's voice, but not, and Stiles scrambles to his feet. Or tries to. Peter must have done something to his leg because it crumples beneath him.

The protective guy – Isaac? – turns and catches him, lifts Stiles in a bridal carry and turns so that he's face to face with Scott.

Who's an Alpha. Which means...

“Peter dead?”

Scott shakes his head. “Worse.”

Derek lifts glowing blue eyes over Scott's shoulder. “We gave him to the Argents.”

-

“You killed my sister, my wife, my daughter, and my father.”

Peter sneers as he lifts his chin from where he's chained to a wire grate, regal though he's being shot through with constant electricity.

“They came after me. They deserved to die.”

Chris Argent steps forward, lifting a knife coated with wolfsbane. “So do you. But you won't for a long, long time.”

-

“I hate hospitals.”

“What are you, twelve? Stop pouting and put a card down.”

They're playing Uno of all things, Isaac just brought the deck in and started dealing. Stiles had been three hands into the game before he'd realized, pulled up short and narrowed suspicious eyes at the blonde werewolf. Isaac's innocent look is far too effective.

After a week in close quarters, Stiles realizes that the kid has a wicked sense of humor, and his sass nearly rivals Stiles' own. He also knows that Isaac has nightmares, and after hearing a couple of the words that spill out when the beta is in that twilight state between waking and sleeping, Stiles thinks they probably have a lot in common.

And then there's Derek.

Stiles turns his eyes to the door where the ever present wall of muscle in a black leather jacket is standing.

“How long is he going to be there?”

Isaac glances over, then back to his cards.

“Scott told him to be your bodyguard until he felt like he'd made up for all the times he couldn't protect you.”

Stiles whistled low. “That's some hardcore guilt-tripping.”

Isaac doesn't smile, gazes at Stiles with those gorgeous eyes, and shrugs. “You weren't Peter's first victim.”

There's a weird nose, and it's not until Isaac looks over that Stiles understands that Derek is growling.

“Whatever,” Isaac mutters, and then lays down a card, but he doesn't bring the subject up again.

Stiles doesn't ask.

-

Six months later Peter's headless corpse is found, burned to a crisp, laid across the graves of his family.

Stiles is physically better then, though he still has nightmares if Isaac isn't right beside him. He still resents Scott for using him as bait, to distract Peter so that he could make his move, but they're moving on from it. Isaac is their bridge.

Derek comes to see him, asks Isaac for a private discussion. He glances at Stiles, who nods.

“If you yell, I will hear it,” Isaac says, walking into the Preserve. Derek watches him go with unreadable eyes.

“He was right. That day in the hospital.” Derek looks down at the ground as he settles next to Stiles on the porch steps. “I told him when I asked him to join Scott.”

Stiles knows Isaac's story. He nods once, waiting.

“Peter was always supposed to be Alpha. He felt that entitled him to do what he wanted to the betas. When my mother caught him doing... _that_...to me, she convinced my grandfather to give it to her instead.”

These are more words that Derek has ever spoken to Stiles at one time. He doesn't say anything, figuring that if he interrupts, the older man will stop.

“He never got over it. Stiles...” Derek takes a deep breath and then slowly lets it out. “He hurt you because you look like me when I was young, and because he couldn't hurt me anymore. It's my fault and I'm sorry.”

There's a lot of things Stiles could have said in that moment, but he doesn't. He just sits silently. Derek leaves after a while, and Isaac comes out of the forest, takes Derek's place.

They sit in silence until well into the night, until Isaac's stomach grumbles, and it makes Stiles jump.

He blinks and looks around. “Where's Derek?”

Isaac huffs a soft laugh. “Left seven hours ago.”

“Oh. Tell him I don't blame him.”

Isaac nods, reaches a thumb out to wipe away tears spilling down Stiles' cheek. “As you wish,” he says softly, and the amber eyes narrow and study Isaac intently.

He shifts, uncomfortable at this sudden scrutiny, starts to get up. Stiles tugs him back down, to which Isaac easily complies, though he complains about being hungry.

Stiles licks his lips, watching those beautiful blue eyes track the movement, then he leans in slow and presses his lips against Isaac's. It's just a soft touch of lips, but Isaac swallows hard, and Stiles hears his claws scraping along the wood of the porch.

“Stiles,” he breathes, and the human pulls back, afraid that he's misread the situation.

“You don't..want..?”

“Um. Exactly the opposite,” Isaac says wryly, looking down, and Stiles lips twist in a smirk at the obvious bulge there.

But then it reminds him of _Peter pressing his face into rough jeans, rutting himself against Stiles' mouth, and it hurt to have his face scraped raw like that but it would be worse when it came time for the jeans to come off_..

“Stiles!” He jerks and the spectre of Peter is gone, and all that's left is Isaac.

“That's why.” Isaac says softly as he runs a hand through Stiles' hair. “It just takes time, babe.”

Stiles sighs and closes his eyes, rests his head on Isaac's shoulder.

Isaac is quiet until the soft snores and steady heartbeat tells him that Stiles has dozed off. He smiles softly and whispers into the night.

“And I'll wait forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: The Humbling River by Puscifer
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. 
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


End file.
